The Moment of Truth
by The Otherworlder
Summary: Commissioner Gordon shoots Batgirl in his attempt to arrest the young vigilante, and Batman decides the moment of truth has arrived. Perhaps it is already too late. Follows Batgirl #23 story arc "Wanted"; New 52 universe with some pre-reboot details.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**AN: This takes place after Batgirl #23 of the New 52, follows immediately from the Wanted story in Batgirl, and of course takes place after all the other latest story arcs of the Bat family series. I did this mostly because the Bat universe has been nothing short of clinically depressing since the New 52 relaunch, and I just about had it, and I desperately needed to resolve at least some of that misery in my own head. The writers at DC will take months and years to finish it (and to be honest, I am not even optimistic about them really resolving all those depressing things instead of adding more depression-inducing misery, so...) Hence this tale to help everyone, characters and readers alike, to feel better. Hope you enjoy.**

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Batgirl stopped at the edge of the building's roof, turned back, and looked at Gordon straight in the eyes.

Unlike the costume of Batman himself and those sons of the Bat, her cowl did not have lenses, and her eyes, those clear blue eyes, were always visible to anyone brave enough to look. Gordon remembered once upon a time those eyes would sparkle like the shallow sea under a glorious sun, so vibrant and full of life, intelligent, colorful, and bold. That was when she first appeared in Gotham, Gordon thought back, when she seemed no more than a headstrong teenager with a bit of a crush on the caped legend. They do say imitation is the greatest form of flattery.

He remembered not taking the little girl seriously then. He spoke to her sternly, trying and hoping to frighten her away; she had no business fighting hardened filthy criminals, and she would probably quit soon, Gordon thought. Very quickly Batgirl proved herself to be _much_ more than some enamored little girl. She was tough, and she was infinitely resourceful, just like the Bat himself; she faced the worst humanity can produce, and always managed to emerge, alive at least if not triumphant, even if it was hanging on by the tips of her cowl's ears. And then one day she vanished, as mysterious as she had once emerged. When she came out of retirement more than three years later Gordon almost breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want to admit it, but Gotham was slowly descending into a quagmire of misery and despair, and he desperately needed more heroic crusaders to stand forth, _anyone_. So yes, Gordon was very thankful when Batgirl returned to save lives and jail criminals, that is, until she killed his son.

James Gordon Junior was a psychotic sociopath, but he did not deserve this, never this, a cold, merciless plunge into the bottomless harbor, an execution in front of his own mother, without even a farewell, only a frame of terror forever imprinted in his father's eyes. No one deserved this. And no father should survive his child.

"Freeze!" Gordon shouted out, the gun in his hand pointed unwaveringly at Batgirl, "Don't move a muscle, woman. I know your tricks."

A pair of weary blue eyes looked back at him. Those eyes were so sad, so lost, so… _Terrified_. What happened to her? What happened to eyes blue like the shallow sea, so bold and playful, what happened to that young woman who could never abandon a life? What happened to her, she became willing to kill? And the son of Gotham Police's Commissioner Gordon no less! He thought they were allies who understood each other.

"Freeze," Gordon said again, quieter this time. He was sad too, his heart breaking from the sheer sorrow of this scene, and then the scattered pieces burned with anger.

"I killed your son, Commissioner, and you killed a friend I cared for," Batgirl said quietly, "There… There really is no way this would resolve with any semblance of peace, is there?"

Gordon steeled himself and replied, "No. James was my son, and for all his messed up antics he did not deserve to die at your hands, not like this. You are a murderer, you know it, and I am going to bring you in."

Batgirl shook her head slowly. "I can't get arrested, commissioner. Not tonight, and not by you."

Her grapple gun was out, her booted feet at the edge of the roof. In a couple seconds she would have jumped, swung through this concrete jungle, disappearing into the night like some unholy creature. Gordon hesitated for one second exactly, and the next second he fired a shot, aiming at Batgirl's lower left ribs. The hardened Kevlar plates she was wearing were all but impenetrable, even at this relatively close distance, but there were always the seams, the weak spots, the joining (and breaking) points—and her armor was already coming apart after a very long night of fighting and running. A good aim, that's all it would take to bring her in.

His shot hit the intended target head on, the bullet pierced through the weaker fabric joining together two Kevlar plates and disappeared into Batgirl's body. She gave him a startled look, those blue eyes widening, and then she _smiled_. This sad but relieved little smile, as if an exhausted soul who was finally being told she could sleep, and then she fell backward into the night.

"No!"

Gordon rushed forward, looking over the edge of the roof. No, he wanted to arrest her, not to kill her! But the sight made him whisper "no" one more time. He saw a shadow swing by like a dark cloud, sweeping up the falling girl in his arms, before a line switch, another swing, and they both crashed into a skyscraper window, disappearing from view. Batman was here. Gordon's brow furrowed with frustration, the momentary fear and remorse of killing Batgirl forgotten. He tried his hardest to identify and remember the specific window Batman and Batgirl crashed into, pulling out his radio and calling for back-up at the new location.

He was close, so very close to bringing Batgirl to justice. He was _not_ going to give up, not even if the caped crusader himself was here. He turned, and took only two steps, when a lithe form barreled into him full force. He was not expecting this, so a couple skillful swipes was all it took to disarm him, and then he was thrown back, pressed down to the floor with a forearm pressing on his chest.

"What have you done?" Nightwing stared down at him, and he could sense the heart-wrenching misery even through the bland white lenses, "Do you have _any_ idea what you have done?"

"I was trying to bring a criminal to justice, I had to shoot," Gordon replied with a steely calm, "I didn't like it either, but I was not about to let a murderer wander free into the night."

Nightwing stared at him for a few silent moments, before saying with a shake of his head, "This isn't you, commissioner, this whole revenge vendetta thing just isn't you. You can't do this. Do you have any idea what you are doing to yourself?"

Fueled by a sudden explosion of anger, Gordon threw Nightwing off of him. It was too easy, perhaps Nightwing never wanted to restrain him to begin with. The young man leaped aside gracefully, avoiding all of Gordon's punches, and another leap backward, now standing a few feet away and watching Gordon with wariness and sorrow alike.

"This is not about revenge, but I did just lose _a son_!" Gordon roared.

"And you will lose much more if you keep up with this," Nightwing said in a low voice, "You will lose those most precious to you. Trust me, you will regret this, enormously. So stop now."

Gordon stared at him vehemently, "Is that a threat? So this is how it goes down? Fine by me."

"It is not a threat," Nightwing growled, "I am simply making a _statement_. I am telling you right now, commissioner, if you insist on this vendetta, you will lose much more than you can ever hope to gain. You will lose everything. I don't want to see that. I want to, no I _must_ stop you; I will be there to stop you, every single time." He didn't wait for a response, only jumped off the roof and disappeared into the shadowy cityscape with the faintest swish of night air.

Gordon stood rooted for a few minutes, before slowly walking over to where his gun had fallen to pick up the weapon. He was really, really tired.

Nightwing's words were still echoing in Gordon's mind the next day, even as he forced down some breakfast half-heartedly. He thought he really must not think the worst of the Bat family, who was his erstwhile partner in crime fighting for many long years. He watched Nightwing grow from the pixie-boots wearing Boy Wonder to the lithe and powerful hunter today, and he simply could not believe such a young man would resort to kidnapping and harming the innocent, and certainly not against a decent police commissioner. But he was still worried, so he called Barbara after breakfast. The phone rang forever without being answered, and Gordon forced himself to not think too much about this small incident and go to work. Two more calls still met only interminable rings, and he grew more worried. A call just before dinner time was finally picked up, but not by Barbara, instead it was her roommate Alysia.

"She never came home last night," Alysia said, sounding uncertain, "And she didn't take her phone, it's on her nightstand. I thought maybe she went to stay with you for a couple days or something. You don't know where she is either?"

Gordon could feel himself grow cold. He drew a deep breath, trying to calculate. How long had it been? Was that over 24 hours? Could he put his people on it now? Technically there was a threat, and he being the police commissioner, it's not a simple missing person case… His frantic pondering was cut short by a beeping noise from his cellphone.

"Meet me on the roof. Very important. –B"

Gordon charged up onto the roof in a fit of rage he never felt before, and it took every ounce of his self-control to not throw himself at Batman when he found the caped vigilante standing there beside the searchlight.

"Where is Barbara?" He asked, growling, hand already on his gun, "What have you done with my child?!"

Batman gave him a long, level stare, before asking, "Gordon, you have known me for so many years, do you truly think I would kidnap your daughter? For what?"

Gordon relaxed somewhat, but he could not stop himself from rebutting bitterly, "I have known you? I have _no_ idea who you are, Batman, and what you hide under that mask. I thought I knew the bunch of you, but obviously I don't. I don't know anything! One of your became a murderer under my very own eyes."

Another piercing look and the caped vigilante spoke up quietly, "Have you considered, Gordon, even for a moment, that perhaps Batgirl had no choice? Or it was a well-intentioned rescue mission gone wrong? Your wife was there, was she not? Did you not ask her what happened?"

"I saw everything with my own eyes!" Gordon roared.

"Alright, Gordon, who am I to deny a decent man righteous retribution?" Said Batman, speaking with barely veiled bitter irony, and he sounded so sad, if such emotion was possible for the Dark Knight of Gotham, "I am prepared to hand Batgirl over to you, Gordon, that's why I am here. If you come with me you can have her. Arrest her, or even shoot her again to finish the job you started, if that is what you truly want."

"What?" Gordon stared at Batman with disbelieving eyes.

"Her operation finished two hours ago," Batman said flatly, "Your bullet fractured two ribs and tore up her left lung a little. She will live, but the recovery process will hardly be swift and painless. Come with me and see her yourself, and then you can decide what you want to do with her."

Gordon's answer was stiff but very much determined. "If you think this will soften me up, you are underestimating me by leaps and bounds," He said, "I _will_ bring her in. We can provide medical care in police custody."

"Then come with me."

Batman turned, his dark cloak swishing behind him. Gordon hesitated for a moment, but finally followed. Barbara will have to wait, for another couple of hours at least. In any case, if she was not targeted by the Bats, then her temporary disappearance was probably coincidental; she should be fine.

Almost as if sensing his thought, Batman said without turning, "And your daughter, Barbara, she is… Safe. Don't worry, for now." There was the clenching of his teeth and the setting of that jaw, which Gordon could notice without even seeing Batman's masked face. It probably meant Batman had some concern, but if he said not to worry, even if it was "for now", Gordon could trust him on this.

The ride in the batmobile was fast and entirely uninformative. Had Gordon his daughter's eidetic memory, perhaps there was the slim chance he could work out where the drive took him, but all Gordon remembered was lots of twists and turns in the shadiest parts of the inner city, before a brick wall at the end of a narrow alley pulled open to reveal a tunnel. Batman was being surprisingly open about his secrets, and Gordon couldn't even care less. He stopped thinking about how this vigilante could hide in plain view long ago.

The batmobile finally stopped, and Gordon found himself in a large, complex underground cavern system. Looking around he could see computer after computer, various weapons and gadgets, training equipment, and a couple more armored vehicles of sorts parked a distance away. Displayed among all these were what looked like souvenirs from Batman's various exploits.

Gordon looked back to Batman and commented, "I didn't think you would be willing to let me see all this."

Batman did not respond, only said drily, "Medical bay is this way, follow me."

The medical bay looked ordinary enough, with only a couple machines that Gordon did not recognize. Even the door and flashing lights leading to the operating "room" looked like what one would find in any hospital, only this particular operating room was another chamber in a system of underground caves. (Maintaining good lighting and power supply for an OR in caves must be hell, Gordon mused to himself.)

Batgirl was lying on a bed tucked away in a corner of the med bay. She was out of her body armor, now dressed in a typical sack-like hospital gown, with an oxygen mask over her mouth, needle for blood transfusions still plugged into her arm. Yet strangely, the cowl still covered her face. Nightwing sat beside her bed, head bowed and holding her hand. Another young man wearing what looked like a red-and-black version of the Robin uniform sat at the foot of the bed, staring at Batgirl, his expression was hidden but his posture spoke of misery and regret. Neither young man moved when Gordon turned towards them.

Gordon suddenly felt very unsure of himself. What was he doing here, and what was he supposed to do? Arrest this unconscious young woman lying on a sick bed? Put handcuffs around her wrists and haul her unmoving body back to the precinct, oxygen machine and blood sack in tow?

So Gordon whirled towards Batman. "Seriously, why did you bring me here, Batman?" He said in a low growl, thoroughly irked and frustrated, "Just why? She lies here like this because of me, because I shot her, yes, I know that, and what? You want me to forgive her? You want me to forget she murdered my _son_ and just let the whole thing go? It's not going to happen; I just _can't_."

Batman stared at him, not speaking, and the silence dragged on. Eventually the dark knight said with a forlorn sigh that was so unlike himself. "I brought you here, Jim, because I can't do this anymore. I have been good at keeping secrets, but I can't keep them anymore, not when they are costing you this much. I have always trusted you, ever since our first year of knowing each other. Perhaps I should have told you everything long ago."

Gordon suddenly felt cold without even knowing why. Batman's words were more cryptic than ever and he could not even begin to decipher their meaning.

"No father should survive his child," Batman continued in a low voice, "You lost your son, and so have I; I lost the son of my own body. And in a frenzy to regain what I lost, I drove another one away, a child of my heart, I injured him so grievously that he erased all memories of me, so that he would be dead to me and I to him. Don't be like me, Jim. You have already lost one child, don't destroy another with your own hands."

Gordon stared at the masked vigilante. He was suddenly immobile and frozen to the core. He could not speak, he was so numb and so cold. Everything before him was starting to blur, so finally he took off his glasses with shaky hands and tried to clean the lenses. They must be fogged, that was why he couldn't see anything.

When he put the glasses back on he thought he saw Batman taking off his cowl; a rather familiar face peered back at him, blue eyes all but buried in exhaustion. Did this action mean something? Was he supposed to know the face? Gordon stared at the now revealed face of the vigilante, but could not make any conscious effort at recognition. He really was too weary for this.

"I am Bruce Wayne, Jim; we have met before," Batman's voice seemed to be coming from very far away, "And Batgirl is… You know, Jim."

Gordon stumbled over to the sickbed, pushing Nightwing away with the strength he didn't know he had, and all but ripped the cowl from the young woman's face.

And there it was, his daughter's face, his little girl, his perfect angel. She was lying there with her eyes closed, like some fairy tale princess fallen into a magical slumber, her face pale, her hair a splash of blood red roses against the snow that was her skin. Gordon stumbled again; it was so hard to stay standing. He turned, and despite his trembling limbs he charged at Batman, throwing a punch at the vigilante's jaw. Batman did not try to defend himself, did not even dodge.

"How could you do this to me? How _could_ you?!" Gordon had the younger man in a choke hold now, burning with fury, "I trusted you, Batman! I thought you a _partner_, a _friend_, I put everything I had behind you, overlooked all your skulking ways, supported you and always let you on board. And _this_ is how you repay me? You watch my little girl go out every night, get beaten within an inch of her life, and then you come to me, pretend you are my partner, yet never breathing a word of this… of _THIS_!"

"I know, Jim, and I am sorry," Batman murmured. His voice was still flat, calm, even. For some who was being strangled he did not even sound like he was in any particular physical discomfort.

"And I came to you, accused my own daughter of murdering her brother, and still you just stood there. Why didn't you say something, anything! You had to wait until I shot her and almost sent her to her death. You had to wait until a father nearly killed _his own child_. Do you even have a shred of human decency left in you?!"

"I know, and I was wrong, very, very wrong," Finally the voice of Batman—nay, Bruce Wayne—cracked. He sounded like he was having difficulty breathing. Perhaps it was the guilt, or perhaps it was Gordon's hands, still crushing his windpipe.

"She lives, Jim," Bruce continued with his strained voice, "You can still fix this, we can all try to fix this. As long as both of you are here, there is still hope yet. You are not like me, Jim, and you don't have to be."

Just then Gordon heard a familiar voice, weak and trembling and filled with trepidation. "Dad, dad?" Barbara had woken up, and she pulled away the oxygen mask, looked around her at the bat cave, then at her father, "Is that you, dad?" A pause, and then with more anxiety, "Dad, please, no! It's not Bruce's fault, please let him go. Dad, please, it's my fault, all my fault…" And there was the quiet sound of sobbing.

That was more than enough to convince Gordon to drop whatever he was doing and stumble to the side of his little girl. He dimly wondered why Bruce Wayne was still standing. Really, how long does it take to _strangle_ that man to death? At Barbara's bed side Gordon's legs finally gave out and he fell to his knees. Tentatively, almost as if afraid, he touched his daughter's face with a trembling hand.

"Oh Babs," He said, weeping, "What have you done to yourself, what have you done to your old man?"

And then Barbara was crying too, raising the arm that was unencumbered by needle to touch his face. "I am sorry, dad," She said brokenly, "I am sorry about James. All I wanted was to stop him from hurting mom, from hurting other people. I should have saved him, I should have tried… tried harder…And I am sorry about hiding all this from you, dad…"

"Enough, Babs, that's enough," Gordon said, kissing his daughter's forehead, "Don't lay it on your old man like this. Rest, Babs, just rest, and get better."

And he knelt there for a long time, weeping by his little girl's bed, all the while speaking nonsense to her, trying to stem her tears and put her back to sleep. He remembered when Barbara was small she would sometimes come to him at night when she had a particularly scary nightmare. She would hold a stuffed animal to her chest, frightened but trying to look brave, and he would always laugh at her and tuck her in, telling her some nonsense stories to put her back to sleep. But his little girl was all grown up now. For all her fears and insecurities, she would still march into the dark every night, fighting unknown horrors, trying desperately to shed some light on the black cesspool that was Gotham. And where has that gotten her?

Gordon wept and wept, he was silent but he could not stop the tears. Barbara had fallen back asleep again; she was still weak and in pain, and sleep was a small comfort for her, leaving her father to weep alone.

Eventually Gordon felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Gordon, sir, if it is any consolation, we all love Babs, like family," Nightwing said in a gentle voice, taking off his mask, "My name is Dick Grayson, sir, and Babs is my best friend."

Now Red Robin stood up too, pulling off his mask as well. The young man looked nervous, yet those blue eyes were earnest. "She was like the big sister I always wanted, sir, and my name is Timothy Drake."

Gordon raised his head slowly and looked the two young men, the fury in him now tempered by confusion, lots of confusion.

"Do you remember the day when Robin first met Barbara Gordon, sir?" Dick asked softly, "She came to the roof of the police station that day, looking for you."

Gordon glared at him, "And I told you, 'Not on your life, boy wonder'."

Dick gave the old cop a small, warm smile, and said, "It was love at first sight for me, sir. I was not even eleven and I loved her, and I still do, to this very day. I tried my best to always have her back, though I must admit, perhaps more often than not it was she who has my back. She is not alone, she has all of us, and now she has you, in every moment of her life."

Gordon was still glaring at him. "You are not forgiven, not yet," He hissed, "Don't ask it of me, I can't. All these years, all the secrecy and lies; all of you kept me completely in the dark!"

Dick winced, but kept eye contact. "I know, sir, and I am truly sorry," He said candidly, "But with your forgiveness or not, with your permission or not, sir, I will continue to support her in whatever decision she makes, and I will watch her back; I will protect her and I will help her make things _right_. I know we haven't been doing a lot of things right, but I hope, Mr. Gordon, now that you know everything, we can all at least start _trying_ again."

Gordon did not answer. He was too weary, too heartbroken to respond. What was he supposed to think? What was he supposed to do? He _shot_ his baby girl, looked for a weak spot in her clothing and aimed to seriously incapacitate; he sent her tumbling over the edge of a skyscraper's roof, nearly plunging to her death. How can he make _anything_ right after such an incident? How can _anyone_ repair such damage?

But Dick Grayson was still looking at him, expression open and even a sliver eager. For a crime-fighting vigilante haunting the streets of Gotham alongside the Dark Knight, Dick seemed entirely too upbeat. But the young man was at least right about one thing: now that he _knew_, he could finally start _trying_.


End file.
